What Would Peter Do?
by KiKiANDjules
Summary: How would all of the modern-day Wendys, Michaels, and Johns react to having a boy in green tights show up in their bedrooms? No, the characters don't beat Peter off with a stick, but their reactions are entertaining. I hope. This one's Jules's.


_DISCLAIMER: I don't own _Peter Pan_ the book, _Peter Pan_ the Disney movie, or _Peter Pan_ the blockbuster. It's when you have to list them all out that you think to yourself, could they have killed the story by now?_

**What Would Peter Do?**

The children weren't very surprised to see a young boy flying around their bedroom. They'd seen the movie (with Jeremy Sumpter in the title role, Wendy said with a sappy smile). And when he introduced himself as Peter Pan, they responded with yawns of boredom.

"Well of course you are," Michael said, struggling to keep his eyes open. "Who else would you be?"

Peter didn't know quite what to say. It was true that he hadn't left Neverland in some years now—how the centuries pass when you're eternally a preadolescent—but he hadn't expected his appearance to lose so much drama.

He turned to the oldest girl, Wendy, with hopeful eyes. Would she act sufficiently astonished?

"No boys I know strut around in tights," she said. And gave him an approving once over.

As if he wasn't feeling awkward already.

In a last-ditch effort to bring things back to a familiar place, he gestured dramatically. "I've lost my shadow!"

Said shadow winced at the cold reaction to that attempt.

"That's practically cliché, that is," complained John. "What are you going to do next, talk about thimbles and kisses?"

Since that was indeed what Peter had been planning to say, he closed his mouth with a snap and crossed his arms in frustration. What had happened to the good old days, with docile children in nightgowns and top-hats?

"Is that all then?" Wendy readjusted her curlers and checked her fingernails for chipping. "We might as well go back to sleep then, right?"

Bewildered, Peter simply said the first thing that popped into his head. "I can teach you to fly!"

Michael didn't open his eyes. Wendy continued to file her nails. John leaned back against the pillows. "To fly?" he said, more than a hint of skepticism coloring his voice. "As in, to soar above the skies in a manner thoroughly disregarding laws of nature, gravity, or common sense?"

Peter, utterly confused by this point, nodded.

"What kind of flying?" Wendy asked with lazy curiosity. "A kind of Keanu Reeves in _The Matrix_ rocket-style-type, or the generic Disney movie fluttering?"

Peter stared.

"Guess those were a bit after your time," Wendy noted, and went back to her nails.

"But I-I can teach you to fly!"

"We've covered this," John sighed.

"I'm feeling a bit of day-ja-voo," Michael added, carefully sounding out the new word.

"A bit of—what?" Peter was beginning to miss Neverland.

"It's French," Michael said proudly.

Even if Captain Hook was a bit murderous, at least the man didn't try to drive his nemesis insane.

"So, you wouldn't like to fly?" Peter asked in a small voice.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Wendy said as she carefully touched up her pedicure.

"I mean, it isn't something we'd like to dismiss out of hand," John agreed.

"Could be useful."

"You never know."

"That's a—yes?" Peter felt, for the first time, like he was aging.

"Sure."

And as Peter, relieved at the familiar routine, sprinkled fairy dust into his palm—

"Oh, but not now," John exclaimed.

Peter paused. Gaped. "Not now?"

"Oh no. I've got a math test tomorrow."

"And there's no nap time on Fridays," Michael objected.

"And what would flying do to my hair?" Wendy added, patting her curlers.

"So not now." Peter slumped against the wall.

"What do you say about next week. Monday maybe?"

"On a school night? Really, Wendy, Mom and Dad would kill us."

"Then Friday?"

"Michael's got his Little League game."

"You can't miss that! Coach is letting me pitch a whole inning!"

"Saturday then?"

"Sure."

"Fine by me."

"All right," John said, turning back to Peter, who was holding his head in his hands. "Could you come by on next Saturday, eleven-ish?"

"I-I guess—"

"Great."

"Fabulous."

"Super. Now get out."

Peter, preoccupied with questions such as _who is this Keanu Reeves_, didn't pay much attention as he jumped off the Darling windowsill with his habitual ease. In fact, it wasn't until he was plummeting towards the sidewalk that he realized that he could not come up with a single happy thought.


End file.
